Faith in Losing Everything
by TheGrayson
Summary: Dick Grayson's life is a mess. He has no family, no job, no home. His relationship with Batman has been on the rocks for years. Lost, he goes back to Gotham to try and make sense of his life, but he doesn't know that nothing will ever again be the same.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, gang. This was born late one night, when I really should have been doing homework. But let's face it, Dick Grayson is **_**so**_** much more interesting than calculus. So, lo and behold, this fic about Nightwing in Gotham. It's set when Dick's 21-almost-22, making Tim around 14-ish. I set it in the timeframe when Dick leaves the Manor when he's 17, for reasons you'll find out. Well, you probably already know, since it's kind of canon. AnyGrayson, I just wanted to write a fic about Nightwing returning to Gotham while he and Batman are in the middle of their feud thingy. It's beautiful.**

Dick sighed as he packed his duffel bags, the last words of his ex-boss still ringing in his head.

_Fired._

How in the world had Dick Grayson, the Dick Grayson, managed to get himself fired?

He had cheated death, danced with danger and grappled with insanity on a daily basis for almost fourteen years of his existence now, but somehow, inexplicably, he had gotten himself fired. And from the police force, no less.

The universe sure loved messing with him. Dick, caught up in the heat of the moment, swore loudly, and then looked up in case the crotchety old man who lived upstairs had heard him. He didn't need "foul-mouthed" to be the next thing added to the long list of things wrong with him.

Sticking his toothbrush (he needed to buy more Colgate) and his comb (which had never seen daylight before) in his bag, he carefully searched the barren apartment for anything he might have missed.

Yes, he was moving. There really was no point in staying in Blüdhaven now, since he had no way of supporting himself financially. Well, at least, financially on his own. There always was that trust fund Lucius had built up, but Dick had always decided to use that as a last resort. That is, if the world had suddenly ended.

Looks like he'd have to dip into that now.

There were other problems too, besides just money. Where was he going to go? Who'd take him in? Would Nightwing be moving, too?

As for his "night job", there was just no other option. Blüdhaven had been relatively well off for a while now, mainly thanks to the efforts of its dark protector. Dick was loathe to leave the city he had come to love, but he had no choice now. The tabloids would talk: what was Dick Grayson, a lonely, eligible, _jobless_ bachelor doing all alone in Blüdhaven?

He really hated the press.

And darn it, Nightwing just up and leaving the Haven would look strange, too. It was a lose-lose situation, either for Richard Grayson or the costumes hero he had become.

He wondered if Bruce had ever had such troubles. Dick thought about it for a while, and then snorted derisively. Please, Bruce Wayne, the fourth richest man on Earth, ever going through a crisis? Ever facing job instability? Ever having to move from the Manor that had belonged to his family for about nine generations now?

It sure sounded good to be a Wayne.

But then again, Dick supposed it was in his blood to be a traveler, just like it was in Bruce's blood to sit around and drink martinis next to gorgeous, lipo-ed women. When he was a little kid, his family had rarely stayed in the same place for over two weeks. Dick had literally been all over the country, seen all the major cities of America. And then, after he'd left Gotham, he had traveled for a bit with the Titans (although that part of his life had ended quickly) and he'd even moved around the East coast before settling on Blüdhaven. This was just going to be another move for him.

Grabbing his coat from where it hung on the doorknob, Dick slipped it on over his broad shoulders, feeling the familiarity of the worn leather seep into his skin. At least _something_ felt right in the world.

"Where am I going now?" Dick asked himself aloud, feeling only slightly silly for speaking to himself. His own ears, Dick had found lately, were excellent listeners.

He could always head to Star City. Roy would be more than happy to take him in, and he certainly promised a fun time. Or, he could opt for the less nuclear option and head over to Wally's, where the two would most likely spend their day eating junk food, sleeping, and laughing. He supposed Donna would let him board with her, but that screamed awkward in more ways than one, especially since Themyscira was a non-male island in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, as good (or bad) as these options sounded, none of them would work out for Nightwing. The ex-Bat's fighting style would clash horribly with a speedster or an Amazon. It would be better with Arsenal, but not by much. Plus, they all had their own lives to deal with, let alone worry about Dick. They had their own problems, their own families.

Dick had rid himself of such problems years ago.

He almost wished he hadn't.

How easy would it have been to just go and live at the Manor? He'd have a luxuriously soft king-sized bed, as opposed to his lumpy twin (actually, Dick supposed, he didn't really _have_ a bed at the moment, considering his lease had worn off three hours ago) and he'd be able to feast on delicious food á la Alfred, rather than the microwaveable pot-pies and cold Chinese take-out he had been eating for the last two weeks straight.

But the problem was, he _couldn't_. He couldn't go back to the Manor, considering he had just walked out almost five years ago.

He couldn't go back to his old room, since Bruce would have given it to the new Robin, that Tim kid.

He couldn't eat Alfred's food, since that would require stepping into the kitchen, and he had sworn to Bruce that he'd never step foot in the house again.

In retrospect, it wasn't his best decision.

Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, Dick shouldered his backpack, lifted his duffel (which was horribly light, even though he'd been living in this apartment for a couple of years, now) and walked out the door.

He decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator, deciding that the feeling of having to walk down over ten flights of stairs suited his mood. He smiled sadly as he handed the keys to the lady at the front desk, Janice. She was the one who gave him cookies on Christmas and always told him that he looked too thin and harped on him about the length of his hair, which was currently only brushing his ears.

He'd miss Janice. He'd miss his apartment. He'd miss Blüdhaven.

And hell, he didn't even know where he was going yet. _Way to go, Grayson, _Dick berated himself, growling lightly as he stepped out of the warmth of the dingy lobby into the cold, dingier streets. _Don't even have a plan and you're already storming out of the house like an upset child._

Why did this situation sound so familiar?

Walking over to the nearest bus stop, Dick sat down on the empty bench and began rifling through the free maps provided in the corner.

Can't go to Star, can't go to Central, can't go to Metropolis because Bruce would know. Well, Bruce probably knew already that Dick had been fired and cast out onto the streets. Bruce knew everything.

New York was an option, and as far as he knew, it didn't have its own superhero. Sure, a Blüdhaven vigilante suddenly appearing in NY would raise some questions, but people would eventually forget. Maybe. Possibly. Okay, likely not.

He could head to Chicago, but he really didn't want to travel all that far. The East coast was nice, and heading any farther inland would just feel awkward.

So he was stuck. Which city would accept another dark, superpower-less vigilante hero whose only real accomplishments were being Batman's sidekick and pulling off short pants and pixie boots?

Dick started. The answer was blindingly obvious. He grinned as he folded up the map, slipping it into his pocket as he drummed his fingers nervously on the cold metal bench.

Was it risky? Yes.

Was it stupid and childish? Yes.

Would it make Bruce mad? Double yes.

Dick smiled wider, humming to himself. _Gotham, here I come._

**Okay, there it was. The first chapter. I looked around, and I really couldn't find many stories like this one (or at least what it's going to be…), so I decided to write my own version of the story. Please, review!**

**-TG**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, here's the second chapter in the series. Dick's in Gotham now, and for the rest… you'll just have to wait and see. :D And I'm sorry it's a bit shorter.**

**And thanks once again to everybody who reviewed the first chapter, it really means a lot to me. Especially since I don't write mulitchapter fics very often. And I'm sorry this is a bit shorter tan the first part. And please, tell me if I have any spelling or grammar errors. I checked it on Word, but you can never be too sure.**

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><p>Dick woke up to heavy hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. His first instinct was to, naturally, lash out, but he held it in. He forced his eyes open, squinting into the darkness.<p>

Rows of seat, a steering wheel, dirty aisles and grime-smeared, half-open windows.

Oh, yeah. He was on a bus. A bus to Gotham. That's why he was slumped half-upright in a cold, ripped seat, with one arm flung haphazardly over his backpack. And then—oh, the bus driver had been the hand on the shoulder.

"Oi, kid, wake up." A thick Jersey accent crowed in his ear. "End o' the line; we're at Gotham."

Dick opened his eyes to see a thick, dirty neck and a large, bald head only a few inches from his face. Three gold teeth glittered at him, while the man's breath reeked of smoke and beer. His eyes were bloodshot. Classic Blüdhaven.

"Mm, thanks." Dick mumbled, still too sleepy to really say much else. It had been his first rest in what, four days? Being a triple-shift policeman by day and a masked crimefighter by night definitely didn't do any wonders for his sleep habits.

Grabbing his duffel (which he was shocked nobody had pilfered, because, honestly, this was a bus from _Blüdhaven_ to _Gotham_) and slinging his ratty backpack over his shoulder, Dick quickly exited the bus, aided by a few shoves from the grumpy driver.

He stepped out onto the familiar streets, his head immediately clearing in the near-frigid air. A warm glow bathed him and he looked up, unsurprised to see the Batsignal glittering through the smog.

As if he needed a reminder as to whose city this was.

Well, at least that meant Bruce was definitely not home. Neither, probably, was Tim. So, the Manor was definitely an option right now.

Wait, Alfred. Okay, so no Manor.

Dick placed a hand to his stomach as it growled viciously. Yeah, he really needed some grub. His last meal had been… too long ago to remember. Probably something after dinner, but before breakfast. A few days ago. Looking across the street, Dick spotted a Taco Bell's 'open' sign dully glowing.

Thank you, universe.

Hurrying inside, Dick hastily bought a couple of soft tacos before heading back outside and sitting in the bus stop.

He was at bus stops too much for his liking nowadays.

Scarfing down his cheap Mexican food, Dick stood up, still a bit confused. So, where was he going now?

"Can't go to the Manor," he muttered to himself, glad that the streets were nearly empty. "Inn—maybe. Better just rent an apartment. Or a hotel, or something."

The third option was, undoubtedly, the best. Plus, he didn't think that Bruce monitored hotel rentings, what with hundreds of people moving in and out of Gotham daily. Plus, living on his own in a cramped room would feel homey. More like Bludhaven. Hah, he never thought he'd call Bludhaven a home.

Nevertheless, Dick wished he was still in the Haven. He missed the police force. He missed coming home to the cheap scent of TV dinners. He missed knowing that he had a bed to collapse into every night. He missed calling Wally from the half-broken wall phone. He missed Nightwing.

Oh, yeah. Nightwing. The blue-and-black crusader hadn't been fired, only Dick had. And normally, these would be Nightwing's working hours.

And he didn't have a place for the night.

And Gotham could always use a bit of help- there was always crime.

And Nightwing _had_ patrolled every night for nearly three years now. It would be a shame to break such a beautiful record.

Making up his mind, Dick carefully stashed his bag and duffel in a nearby mailbox (the postman only came at eleven in the morning, plenty of time) and carefully peeled off his shirt and pants in a nearby alley, glad he had thought to wear the Kevlar-and-Nomex suit under his clothes.

Nightwing was in Gotham now.

It was great being back in Gotham. It was, after all, the city Dick had grown up in, the very buildings from where Dick had shot his first grappling hook. Ah, good times, good times.

Of course, he figured, as he jumped over the rooftops, letting his retractable glider wings hoist him up into the air, he'd have to be extra careful tonight. He couldn't let Bruce find him right away, just after he got here. Because then the fights would start, the yelling would begin, and the whole thing would end like last time. And God knows how well that turned out.

"_Go! Get out!" _

The words still stung, even five years later.

Dick gulped in a large mouthful of cold air, grateful to the freezing chill for distracting him from his memories. Shooting off a line somewhere into the darkness, Dick let the zipline carry him away, doing a few flips and somersaults in the air just for the pure thrill of it all.

He could hear the far-off sounds of a fight, somewhere. Smiling a bit to himself, he changed course and glided to where he suspected the struggle would be.

For tonight, at least, he could forget about his troubles. Forget about Blüdhaven, forget about Bruce, forget about trying to find a new place to stay.

It was just Nightwing and the sky.

And that was the way he liked it.

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><p><strong>Okay, I know this one was shorter, and I'm sorry. These filler chapters are just so hard to write. Don't worry, the next chapter should be about Dick actually doing real things in Gotham and stuff like that. I might even throw in a little Tim and Bruce and Alfred, just 'cuz I'm wild like that. But I swear, the next chapter will be longer! So, uh, please review?<strong>

**-TG**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm baaaaack! Yup, since you've all been so great, here's the third installment of this story. And I vowed to myself to make this chapter longer, so I did. I will. Uh…whatever. (In times of doubt, disclaimer out!)**

**And this chapter is still basically the continued exposition. (That's right, I have been paying attention in English!) Sorry it took so long. Expositions are boring. Wait 'till the action get here. :)**

**Disclaimer: If I owned this, there'd be a huge Copyright sign somewhere… but there isn't. You make the connection.**

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><p>Dick groaned as he woke up, his neck already aching. It was just one of his many sore spots from last night. Nightwing had managed to stop seven muggings and robberies, but he hadn't gone unscathed. His neck had taken a nasty blow, and the messily bandaged scratch on his back was hurting again. Maybe it had split open, he mused dully, still trapped in dreamland. With some effort, he roused himself.<p>

"Wha…" he began, before grinding to a halt. His mouth felt dry and rough, like sandpaper, and his cheek was pressed firmly against the glass.

What glass? Dick peeled his eyes open and groaned again when he noticed the familiar rectangular shape of the bus stand. Great. He had (apparently) spent the whole night outside, in a dirty bus stop. It was a wonder he wasn't mugged. Or beaten. Or had obscene drawings Sharpied onto his face, because hey, this was Gotham.

He quickly stood up, bowed an apology to the startled little old lady on the bench next to him, and then discreetly removed his belongings from where he had stashed them in a battered, blue mailbox. He could only thank the supposed mystical beings of the universe that he had bothered to change out of his Nightwing suit before dozing off.

So now, he really just had one pressing issue. He needed a place to stay. Grabbing his bags, Dick started walking, intent on figuring out a solution to his problems.

Problems. Dick certainly had enough of them. There was his house, his job, his _other_ job, his relationship with Bruce…

That last one was a killer.

As much as Dick blamed himself for the falling out between them, he blamed Bruce just as much, maybe even more. What was he thinking when he hired that Jason kid as Robin, just barely after Dick had left—wait, no. Barely after Dick had been _fired._ Didn't Bruce say that he couldn't deal with another kid? Wasn't that why Bruce was so disappointed and angry at Dick? Wasn't that why Dick had been forced to leave?

Dick squeezed his eyes shut. _No, Grayson, it wasn't like that. Leaving was the better option. _Dick tried to pacify himself, feeling his emotions rise up in a wave of black. _You're _happy_ you walked out. It was better for you. For them._

Interestingly enough, his feet had carried him past Gotham Academy, and he paused long enough to stare at the grounds he had studied at for years. Yup—same old door, same old pothole in the far left corner of the parking lot, same old bench that kids had been doodling on the bottom of for years without any of the teachers noticing.

It was nice to know that some things never changed.

It was while he was thinking all these things when something hard ran into him.

"Oof." Dick muttered as he stumbled back a few steps, rubbing his shoulder where somebody had hit him. The man—or should he say, the kid, since he could be no older than fifteen—was staring at him apologetically, his large blue eyes and expressive face contorted into a grimace.

"I'm sorry." he offered, reaching out a hand towards the shaken Dick.

Dick gazed at the form more intently, trying to remember something. Okay, dark hair, big, blue eyes, a wide smile, clean white teeth that were just the slightest bit crooked. Suddenly, the memory of where he had seen that face before rushed back into his brain, and Dick started. He tried to pass it off as shock from the collision.

Dick recognized that face, that voice. Robin. Tim. This was Robin III, number three, numero tres. His _second_ replacement.

"Uh, whatever, it's okay." Dick mumbled, shaking the outstretched hand as fast as he could without seeming impolite. Tim grinned and nodded at him before walking away, apparently in a hurry to get to class before he was late.

Clearly he went to school here, as shown by his dark gray blazer, starched white shirt, khaki trousers and the gleaming purple Gotham Academy logo emblazoned on his jacket. His crisp red tie was knotted in a half-Windsor knot, the type of knot that Alfred preferred. His hair was combed back, slicked against his head just like how Dick's had been when he went to that school.

A pang of something—regret, anger, jealousy?—shot through him as he remembered his days living as the happy little ward of Bruce Wayne.

In a way, he still was. Just not happy or little. Nope, he'd outgrown the Wayne family. Instead, Bruce had a new lapdog now. Tim followed his orders now.

The kid hadn't even recognized him, Dick thought numbly. Well, it wasn't entirely his fault. With his wrinkled jacket, his mussed hair and his unshaven face—which most likely wasn't entirely clean—Dick probably looked like another hobo on the streets of Gotham. Another guy down on his luck.

Never before had a term been applied to Dick more accurately.

But still, maybe Tim had just never heard of him. Maybe all his old photos had been removed. Maybe his old uniforms—both Robin and Gotham Academy—had been thrown out. Maybe his room had been cleaned and fixed, made to look like just another one of the many guest rooms. Maybe the name "Dick Grayson" had become just as taboo in the Wayne Manor as the name "Batman" had become in Dick's mind.

Or maybe he was just overthinking things.

Bruce sighed as he carefully wrote down the latest stack of numbers faxed to him by Fox. Business work certainly wasn't as exciting as his other line of work, but it was necessary nonetheless. Wayne Enterprises had been his father's, and it was always a dream of Thomas's to have Bruce eventually take over.

He just didn't think that it would be so soon.

So Bruce, as much as the thought of crunching numbers and sitting through meetings all day appalled him, held in his distress and plowed on through, because if there was one man he couldn't disappoint, it was his father.

And Alfred. And possibly even Tim, considering how much the fourteen-year-old admired Bruce. And maybe even D—.

No. Not going there. Never going there again.

Bruce finally finished his paperwork, and then headed down into his "private study." That is, the Batcave. After punching in the corresponding numbers on the old grandfather clock, and setting the correct time, and getting his features scanned invisibly, and finally after getting his retinas properly identified by the built-in micro-camera, the glass doors finally slid open, revealing the slim elevator hidden behind them.

Bruce stepped in to the space and felt the familiar sensation of being dropped into a tube.

His computer was already booted up and ready, the familiar grid spanning over a map Gotham. Bruce dropped into his large chair and started to work. His usual updates were

Attempted robbery, stopped by police. Tim was late to first period. Alfred paged him at roughly 11:07. Fox called him at 3:14. Mugging at the corner of Vietti and Weisman. Purse robbery at Springsley and Kitter. Richard John Grayson fired from Blüdhaven police.

What?

When had this happened? Why hadn't Dick called?

Well, that was obvious. When was the last time Dick had called? Bruce couldn't even remember.

Why was he worrying, anyway? It wasn't his problem. Dick was resourceful. He could find another job easily. Anybody would hire the ex-circus star and billionaire heir. Anybody would take in the lonely orphan, separated for so long from his family. Anybody would love to have such a charming, talented, friendly man.

Anybody but Bruce.

Dick stumbled into the lobby of the Carlton Hotel in downtown Gotham. He had been on his feet all day—he didn't have enough spare change on him to hire a cab—and he was growing exhausted.

The lobby was brightly lit and well-furnished, which was to be expected since the Carlton was both Gotham's best and longest-running hotel. Okay, it was frivolous and unnecessary, but Dick _had _the money, and what better way was there to show Bruce he was fine than live in the lap of luxury?

Okay, so maybe Dick had chosen this hotel just to irk Bruce a bit. No doubt the press would get wind of this new development—they had the noses of sharks. And maybe, just maybe, Bruce would have some trouble too.

Because hey, if it wasn't for him, Dick could be home right now.

Dick sidled up to the counter and flashed the young lady at the desk a dazzling, debonair smile. She blushed as she wrote down the information he gave her, and her eyes widened comically when Dick pulled out his AmEx Gold and told her to link it to his bank account.

"Uh, your room is 545, Mr. Grayson." the lady told him, averting her eyes from his smile. "Thank you and please enjoy your stay at the Carlton."

"Thank _you, _Samantha." Dick replied, sneaking a quick peek at her nametag. "And please, call me Dick."

He quite enjoyed the sight of her face turning fire-engine red as she pointed out the elevator. Good Lord, she actually _squeaked_. Dick held in his snickers with some difficulty. Okay, that had been a bit immature. He'd be sure to give her a good rating on their staff rating sheets.

Dick nearly collapsed onto the king-sized bed, dumping his backpack and duffel unceremoniously to the ground.

"Nnnnggggaaaahh." he moaned into the pillow, trying to relieve some of the stress that he could already feel knotting in his shoulders.

His life was such a mess. Such a huge, ginormous, humongous mess.

Why was it always him?

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><p><strong>*shies away* Stop looking at me like that! I swear, this one was over 500 words longer than the other chapter. Or at least, that's what Word tells me, since I don't believe the FF counters. Anyone else having that problem, or is my computer just against me?<strong>

**Lol anyTim, I need some ideas for Bird Boy, if any of you have read it. I'm in such a slump.**

**So, please review with any comments, criticism, feedback or ideas!**

**-TG :3**


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